


High Tides

by glennjaminhow



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Awkwardness, Confessions, M/M, Mac McDonald POV, Marijuana, Post-Season/Series 05, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 09:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: Filled Tumblr Prompt: MacDennis + Smoking weed / Dennis can't roll a joint to save his life, so his man has to do it for him every time.





	High Tides

He's halfway through an episode of The Simpsons when he hears stirring from Dennis' room. Finally! A sign of life! Dennis came home from work with him last night cranky as shit. He didn't do much at the bar, just complaining and groaning and yelling at the gang when they got too riled up, especially Mac. But it isn't his fault! Charlie got a new t-shirt for the first time in, like, 20 or 30 years, and it has a beluga whale on it, and Mac really likes beluga whales. They're sweet ass animals. 

Mac jumps up off the couch, rubbing his palms together excitedly. He's been alone for hours now. It's, like, past noon, and no one else in the gang is awake besides him and now Dennis. Maybe he can convince him to go get some lunch because he's fucking starving. Potatoes sound good. Maybe he can convince Dennis to make him mashed potatoes. He's better at that cooking stuff anyway. 

He knocks on the door. Dennis murmurs something that he takes as an invitation to come in. 

Dennis is sitting up in bed, comforter pooled around his waist and hair sticking up on one side and flat on the other. The plate from the half sandwich Mac made him eat last night is on his lap and, thankfully, empty. There are rolling papers and Mac's eighth of weed scattered on the dish. Dennis bites his bottom lip, his fingers working carefully on the task at hand. Except he has to stop, like, a bajillion times to push the sleeves of his oversized shirt to his elbows. It's sky blue. It looks good on him. Goes well with his eyes. 

Mac shakes his head and pushes that away from his mind. 

"Dude, you know you can't roll joints," he says. "You suck at it." 

Dennis huffs. "Shut up. I have a headache." 

He goes back to licking the paper, spilling kush out the sides. 

"You're doing it all wrong," Mac tells him as he plops down on Dennis' bed. He sits on something hard and bony. Dennis growls and kicks him in the thigh with zero effort. It doesn't hurt a bit. 

Dennis is no good at this. He should know that by now. 

Dennis drops what he's accomplished, which, by the way, is nothing. He rubs his eyes. "Can you just do it then?"

Mac shrugs. "I dunno, Den. I could, but, if I remember correctly, you didn't even ask if you could borrow my weed."

"So?"

"There's a code, bro. 'Thou shall not touch stashes that don't belong to yee.'"

"Oh my God," Dennis groans. "Please, Mac."

It's a good thing he's such a nice guy.

"You're in luck," Mac says, smiling. "I was gonna smoke myself. Give it here."

Dennis passes off the supplies and scoots until he's shoulder to shoulder with Mac. He's warm and smells like vanilla. Mac misses the way Dennis feels pressed against him. 

Mac's done this since before he can remember. Dad used to make him roll joints for a side business when Mac was just a little kid. He got so good at it. When he became the school's only dealer, he was the talk of the town. Then he met Dennis, a scrawny kid with curly hair and a billion dollars, and they smoked together a lot. He tried to teach Dennis how to roll his own stuff, but the dude's clumsy, and his fingers always shake. He sucks at the delicacy of it. Patience is key when it comes to rolling, but Dennis doesn't have, like, any patience. 

As Mac brings the new cigar to his mouth, Dennis lays his head on his shoulder. Mac's heart skips a beat, and his palms start to sweat. He licks a small stripe along the side. Dennis watches wordlessly. 

He works off the outer leaf, he splits down the seam in the middle, cracking it open with the precision of a surgeon. It looks like an open hotdog bun. He nudges the tobacco out. He glances down at Dennis, whose eyes are still open, but his mouth remains closed. Mac rolls it up, wrapping and sealing it, the weed safely packed inside. He digs a lighter out of his pants, running a flame over the final product. 

"Nice," Dennis mumbles. His head is on Mac's shoulder. Dennis' head is on Mac's shoulder. Why is it so hard to concentrate? 

Mac nods. "I'm gonna get us some drinks before we do this, okay?" 

"Oh. Okay," Dennis says. He moves his head. It leaves a cold spot. He misses the contact with Dennis already. 

Mac makes a break for it, heart slamming in his chest as he practically sprints to the kitchen. He's out of breath by the time he reached the fridge. It's happened before, sure. A lot when they were... But only when it's movie night or when Dennis is sick or sleepy or having a bad day. This doesn't exactly seem like any of those. Dennis doesn't just lay his head on Mac for no reason. Mac scrubs his hands down his cheeks, hands trembling.

Okay. Calm down. It didn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything. 

He grabs two beers and a glass of orange juice for Dennis. He needs the vitamin C.

Dennis is laying against a mound of pillows when Mac returns. It's sunny out in the living room, but so dark in here. Mac tries to ignore the swelling in his chest. Dennis just looks... small and comfortable and... not at all what he puts off to the gang. They have no idea. No one knows who Dennis really is except Mac. 

"Ready to get stoned?" Mac asks, trying to sound as cheery as possible.

Dennis nods.

Mac climbs into Dennis' messy bed, sitting against the headboard. Dennis scoots closer.

He almost says something, almost asks if something is wrong or if Dennis needs to be cuddled or whatever, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to make Dennis feel weird even though he is acting kinda funny. 

Mac let's Dennis take the first few hits. They're seasoned weed adventurists, so there's just a little bit of coughing and gagging. Mac relaxes in a giant cloud of smoke while Dennis presses himself impossibly closer. Their thighs are touching. So are their shoulders. 

"I wish we could see the stars here," Dennis says quietly, so softly Mac barely hears it. 

Mac finds himself laughing, and he doesn't know why. "Me too. It'd be pretty." 

"Philly is just... so much, y'know?" Dennis says after another hit. He exhales another puff of smoke. It looks awesome and beautiful. "Like... There's a lot of people, and they bump into you when they walk. I don't want people to bump into me, Mac..."

Mac nods. He isn't sure what to say.

"I wish we could go away," Dennis whispers. 

Mac's eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"Like we should leave, y'know? Go to Iceland or Greenland or something. No one 'ill know us there."

"Why, Den? Philly is our home."

Dennis laughs. It's small and cute. Mac braces for an invisible impact. "I don't like who I am here."

"Den, I -"

"I miss you, Mac. Even when you're here, right next to me, I miss you."

Mac is seriously about to implode. He doesn't know what to say or think. He doesn't get why Dennis is doing this right now. He's hungry, and, fuck, he's high, and Dennis is saying so many things. So many words. Dennis never gets real with him. Why's he doing it now? Why now? Why? 

While Mac's still trying to process this, this crazy thing he calls his life, Dennis lays his head on his shoulder. Again. 

"Den," he starts. "I don't know -"

"You don't have to say anything," Dennis says quietly. 

Good. He doesn't even know what he'd say. This is all... so much. It's too much. He misses Dennis, like, a lot all the time. It feels like their days now are punctured with uneasiness, awkwardness, and weirdness after they stopped... doing what they were doing a few months ago. It hasn't been the same since. 

Minutes pass. Fuck, it could be hours for all that he knows. The subject is dropped. Mac dissolves into the bed and becomes one with the ceiling. Dennis is still close by, arm slinged over Mac's waist with his cheek nuzzled into Mac's chest. The thick smoke cloud hangs loosely in the air. Mac wants to move, to grab his beer, to make sure Dennis drinks his juice, to order pizza, but his body is made of stone.

Eventually, Dennis dozes off, mouth parted slightly and drooling a little on Mac's hoodie.

Mac takes this opportunity, probably his only opportunity ever again, to pepper tiny kisses in Dennis' curls.


End file.
